


feet thudding the rhythm of his heartbeat

by violia



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, but it's all really short, kind of?, with story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4922443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violia/pseuds/violia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He froze, hit by a dizzy spell; he would’ve fallen to the floor if Newt hadn’t grabbed his waist, effectively stabilising him against the shelves. An idea had just occurred to him. A horrible, terrible, awful idea."</p>
            </blockquote>





	feet thudding the rhythm of his heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> Have used the physical appearances of the characters from the films, a hybrid of characterisations from the films and the books, and the storyline from the books. You won't be lost if you've only seen the films though.  
> None of this is mine, I don't own the characters or story, all credits go to James Dashner. Moment is taken directly from the book, you may notice some of the sentences if you've got a keen eye.

That was it. Six words.

Disappointment washed over Thomas—he’d been sure the purpose of the Maze’s code would be obvious once they had it figured out. He looked up at Teresa with a sunken heart. “That’s all? Are you sure they’re in the right order?”

She took the paper back from him. “The wall formations in the Maze have been repeating those words for months—we finally quit when that became clear. Each time, after the word _PUSH_ , it goes a full week without showing any letter at all, and then it starts over again with _FLOAT_. So we figured that’s the first word, and that’s the order.”

Thomas folded his arms and leaned against the shelves next to Newt. Without thinking about it, he’d memorized the six words, welded them to his mind. _Float. Catch. Bleed. Death. Stiff. Push_. That didn’t sound good.

“Cheerful, don’t ya think?” Newt said, mirroring his thoughts exactly.

“Yeah,” Thomas replied with a frustrated groan, pushing himself away from the wall. “We need to get Minho down here – maybe he knows something we don’t. If we just had more clues—” He froze, hit by a dizzy spell; he would’ve fallen to the floor if Newt hadn’t grabbed his waist, effectively stabilising him against the shelves. An idea had just occurred to him. A horrible, terrible, awful idea. The worst idea in the history of horrible, terrible, awful ideas.

But instinct told him he was right. That it was something he had to do.

“Tommy?” Newt asked, stepping closer with a look of concern creasing his forehead. “What’s wrong with you? Your face just went white as a ghost.”

Thomas’ left hand had found purchase on a shelf, whilst his right held Newt’s shoulder in a death grip. He shook his head and forced his hands to loosen in an attempt to compose himself. “Oh… nothing, sorry. My eyes are hurting—I think I need some sleep.” He rubbed his temples for effect, hoping that Newt would not call his bluff.

 _Are you okay?_ Teresa asked in his mind. Peering over Newt’s shoulder, Thomas saw that the concern in his eyes was almost mirrored in Teresa’s. Despite the toll telepathy took on his mind, he prepared to fling more stuttered sentences of reassurance towards her, but grew distracted by the sudden realisation that Newt’s hands were still firmly holding his torso.

His bleary eyes flicked back to Newt’s, taking a moment to refocus. Technically he had not lied – twenty-four hours out in the Maze was certainly taking its toll on him. Thomas’ world now consisted of his feet thudding the rhythm of his heartbeat into the ground for twelve hours a day, never staying in one spot for more than a few minutes to catch his breath. The sensation of two warm hands gripping his sides contradicted his slippery life of mapping the maze and evading Grievers in his sweat-slicked clothing.  Newt’s hold on him felt firm and grounded and real. Stable. Thomas could run forever, but Newt would always be there.

As though triggered by the safety he found in Newt’s arms, Thomas felt every last drop of energy being drained from his body, which sank into Newt’s grasp of its own accord. In that moment the only thing Thomas wanted to do for the rest of his life was fall asleep with Newt beside him, his mind quietened by the belief that whatever happened next, whatever horrors their future held, Newt would be by his side every step of the way.

 _Thomas?_ Teresa’s increasingly worried tone broke him out of his reverie. He blinked and finally broke eye contact with Newt, who hastily withdrew his arms to fold them firmly against his chest. His face now conveyed an expression Thomas could not discern – a mixture of concern and confusion and something else – and his ears were tinged with red.

Thomas ducked his head and rubbed at his eyes wearily, gathering enough willpower to respond to Teresa that _Seriously, I’m tired. I just need some rest._

“Well,” Newt said, and Thomas felt a strong hand reach out to squeeze his shoulder. “You spent all bloody night out in the Maze – go take a nap.”

Thomas looked up at Newt, then at Teresa. He wanted to share his terrible idea, but one look at their worried faces told him they would strongly object. Instead he just nodded and headed for the stairs, Newt’s hand slipping away from his shoulder as though it had never been there in the first place.

Firmly ignoring the part of his brain which yearned to run back down those stairs, Thomas strode forward determinedly. He now had a plan. As bad as it was, he had a plan. They needed more clues about the code. They needed _memories_.

So he was going to get stung by a Griever. Go through the Changing. On purpose.

He sighed. Newt was going to kill him when he found out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is always appreciated. So is endless fangirling. I'm so in love with these two, seriously


End file.
